


Rematch

by AcrylicPizza



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Depression, F/F, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Self-Esteem Issues, Swearing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrylicPizza/pseuds/AcrylicPizza
Summary: The decade after high school hasn't been kind to Sam, and the last thing she needs when she reluctantly attends Aisha's wedding is to be seated next to her old nemesis.
Relationships: Samantha LaRusso/Tory Nichols
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	Rematch

**Author's Note:**

> I expect that not many people will read this because it's not a popular pairing, but hey, I had fun writing it! Tory is blonde in this because I've seen pictures of Peyton List where she is blonde and that's just how I pictured future!Tory.

There was no specific moment Sam could point to, no single decision she had made, that had set her life on the wrong track.

It could have been when the first time she drank alone, which had kicked off a habit that gradually whittled away at her self control until she missed a few too many classes, blew off a few too many assignments, and flunked out of college.

Or it could have been her parents' divorce, right after she left for college, which made her question their whole life as a family. 

Or maybe it was something further back, something that happened in high school.

In any case, it had been tough to get a job after she dropped out. She felt ashamed, both of her failure and the fact that she had never had a job, which suddenly seemed like a scarlet letter of privilege stamped on her empty resume. She interviewed for a lot of shitty jobs and didn’t get them. When she finally lucked into a job, she hated it, but she got stuck there.

Now she was almost thirty, still living with her mom, still working for barely over minimum wage in the same job she started at eight years ago, and still getting through at least a bottle of wine every night plus the occasional binge that blindsided her and left her hungover for days. She had gained about thirty pounds since college, from that combination of alcohol, greasy drunk snacking, greasy hangover meals, and being too miserable to keep up her karate. Her dad still tried to get her to do kata with him when she stayed at his house, but she just didn’t enjoy it anymore. She didn’t enjoy anything anymore. She no longer had any hopes for the future. 

When she was a teenager she had so many dreams and ambitions, but now she couldn’t even imagine a future she might actually enjoy living in. Even if she tried to imagine a perfect life, she knew she would still feel like shit if she were actually living it. As much as she tried to blame her misery on her admittedly depressing life circumstances, she knew they were only a symptom of something wrong with her. There was a black hole of self hatred in her heart, an infinitely dense and heavy thing that sucked up any pleasure she tried to feed it and never got any closer to being full. She could travel to paradise and it would come with her every step of the way.

She no longer talked to any of her friends from high school. She even deleted her socials because she couldn’t stand reading all about everyone’s perfect lives, knowing that she had nothing to brag about in return. Now she only heard about her old classmates’ achievements if her parents told her about them. She knew through her parents that Aisha was some kind of scientist working in a lab, probably chemistry, she had always liked it in school. 

Aisha was getting married. Sam was invited to the wedding. She had no excuse not to go, so she went.

Aisha’s wedding was surprisingly traditional, held in a church and everything. Sam sat in a pew with her parents, feeling awkward and hollow, just watching. She wasn’t a bridesmaid. Apparently Aisha had enough new friends to fill those roles. Apparently she and Sam weren’t that close anymore. 

Even though Sam hadn’t been in Aisha’s life for years, it still felt wrong to be just another guest at her wedding. She remembered dancing around in Aisha’s bedroom as a kid, having sleepovers, building forts, sliding around on her floors with socks on, so many formative memories that were so strong it seemed like they should outweigh even the fifteen years that came after. But she and Aisha were almost strangers now. She had never met the man Aisha was marrying, a good-looking doctor who was built like a linebacker. Everything about the ceremony cast Sam’s failures in sharp relief. She could barely watch.

The reception was right across the street in the ballroom of a fancy hotel. Fidgeting in her ill-fitting, slightly too casual dress, Sam stood uncomfortably in line at the open bar, desperate for a drink. Her parents couldn’t stick around for the dinner, but they had pressured her into staying because she hadn’t seen Aisha in so long. They probably wished she was as successful as Aisha. They probably thought it would be easy to rekindle that friendship, and then maybe Aisha would rub off on her somehow. 

Instead she downed two glasses of champagne before she even went to find her assigned seat for dinner, grabbing a third glass for the walk over there. She was glad she did, because she didn’t know what she would have done if she had been completely sober when she saw who was seated next to the spot with her name on it. 

Tory Nichols was blonde now and wearing a very expensive-looking green dress. She looked like a supermodel. Red lipstick, perfect eyeliner, perfect everything. She smiled at Sam when she sat down.

“I guess she put us together because we don’t know anyone else, huh?” Tory said, surprisingly friendly considering how much they hated each other. Or how much they _had_ hated each other in high school. Tory’s manner reminded Sam that for some people, a lot had happened since high school. Some people didn’t dwell on the past the way she did. 

She had heard through the grapevine that Tory was a self-made millionaire, basically a business mogul now. She owned a trendy chain of boxing gyms that had locations across the country. That explained why she was so lean and fit. Sam felt even more self-conscious about her recent weight gain than before. Why did Tory have to be here? Why did she, of all people, have to see her like this?

“I guess.” Sam said.

“So, what have you been up to since high school?” Tory asked, still friendly. It bothered Sam. How could someone go from terrorizing her to treating her like any old acquaintance like it was nothing? She would have preferred a hint of the old animosity, some evidence that their rivalry had meant something to Tory. Nothing was worse than the idea that Tory might remember their fighting as some silly high school drama rather than the traumatic, over-the-top nightmare it had actually been.

“Nothing.” She said honestly.

“What, did you spend the last ten years sitting in a dark room or something?” Tory joked. Sam thought about her bedroom at home, the curtains perpetually drawn because she was nearly nocturnal now, the way she went to work and came home and that was it. That was actually a pretty good summary of her life. She shrugged.

“Maybe I did.” She said, not in a particularly friendly tone. Tory was unfazed.

“Ok, well I haven't seen Aisha since college, how about you?"

"High school." Sam said, her eyes wandering over the crowd. She wondered if the bartender would judge her if she went for another glass of champagne. 

"No way, not since high school?" Tory looked genuinely shocked.

"Not since her parents moved her after the fight." Sam said, fixing Tory with a look that she hoped reminded her whose fault that was.

"And you never called her or anything?" Tory asked.

Sam hadn’t. It hadn’t even occurred to her to do so. She didn't want to admit as much to Tory though, so she stayed silent. 

"You didn’t? I thought you guys were like, best friends." Tory said.

"We weren’t exactly on good terms at the time."

“Well, she actually really liked the new school her parents sent her to. No bullies.” Tory informed her.

“Must have been nice.” Sam said. 

Tory pushed past her sullen reply and tried again. “We ended up going to the same college, so we hung out a lot until my work took me to the east coast.”

“Cool.” Sam said flatly. Tory finally started to look irritated by the lack of response.

“Look, I’m trying to be friendly here. We have to sit together all night. Give me something to work with.”

“Maybe I’m still waiting for an apology.” Sam said.

“For what? For a couple of fights in high school? That was over a decade ago. Anyway, you started it. As far as I’m concerned, we’re fair and square.”

“Fair and square? You tried to kill me!”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you, you drama queen.” Tory said.

“You broke into my house and beat up my friends!” Sam said, a little too loud. The other people at their little table were all paying attention to them now, but Sam didn’t care. 

“Big deal, it was ages ago.”

"I flunked out of college because of you!"

"What the hell are you talking about? I made you flunk out of college? What, did I give you brain damage or something?”

“I had panic attacks all through college. I missed too many classes.” Sam said, and maybe she’d had too much to drink already if she was saying this out loud, because even she knew this was a tenuous connection, no matter how much she blamed Tory in her own mind.

“How is that because of me? We didn't even go to the same college." Tory asked.

"They started after that fight." Sam said. Tory gave her a withering look.

"Everyone else was in the same fight and we didn't all flunk out of college." She said. It was a thought Sam had had many times. She had even shared it with the therapist her mom made her see after she moved back home. 

"Trauma affects everyone differently." Sam said. That was what the therapist had said at the time.

"Not my fault you're such a delicate princess." Tory said with a shrug, looking so self-assured, so unrepentant, so perfect. 

Sam lost it. She couldn’t look at that smug face anymore. She lashed out with her fist, and while she was a bit rusty, she carried it through, landing her punch right by Tory's nose. Tory yelped in surprise and tried to block the next blow, but she was a little too slow and Sam hit her in the mouth while grabbing her by the neckline of her dress and tearing it, feeling the fabric shred a lot more easily than she’d expected. Tory wrenched herself out of Sam's grip, stumbling out of her chair, back a few paces, and getting into a fighting stance.

She grinned, and there was blood in her teeth. 

"Alright LaRusso, let's see what you got." She said in a way that reminded Sam of the old Tory, the one with who relished the fight, the one Sam used to have nightmares about. But Sam wasn't afraid of that Tory anymore. It was the new Tory, the perfect, successful blonde bombshell who had moved on from their rivalry completely that Sam now found intimidating. 

She was strangely comforted by the steely glint in Tory’s eyes, and the slight movement of her body that telegraphed her intention to kick with her right leg. When the kick came, Sam blocked it and spun around, landing a kick of her own right in the center of Tory’s chest. Tory went flying backward, slamming into the table with a crash of shattering glassware. For a moment, Sam stared down triumphantly at Tory on the floor. She hadn’t done karate in years, but she could still win a fight. Then she noticed how the room had gone quiet, everyone watching them, and Sam remembered where they were. 

“What the fuck, Sam?” Aisha said. Coming down from the elevated table where she had been sitting with her new husband and new friends, Aisha ran straight to Tory to check if she was okay. The neckline of Tory’s dress was ripped down the front, all the way down to her waist, exposing her red lace bra, and she had a bloody nose and swollen lip.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Tory said, waving Aisha away.

“Both of you, come with me.” Aisha commanded. Sam had never seen Aisha look so furious. She led them out to the hallway, Tory holding her dress closed and sniffling to keep her blood in her nose. They could hear the excited buzz of conversation restarting as the door fell shut.

“I don’t even have words. What the hell were you thinking?” Aisha said to Sam. 

“She started it.” Sam said.

“Oh really? Because it looked like you just attacked her out of nowhere. This is my wedding, Sam. _Mine_.”

“But she said--”

“I don’t _care_ what she said. It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it? I thought you would have grown up a little by now, but you’re still making everything about you.”

“But I--”

“Oh my god, shut up! You could at least apologize for ruining my reception, but you still haven’t learned the word ‘sorry’ yet, have you? Here, I’ll use it in a sentence for you: I’m sorry I invited you. I think you should leave.” Aisha said, and with that, she turned and went back into the ballroom, slamming the door behind her.

Sam stood there for a moment, feeling heat in her face, and before she knew it she was crying. She sank down against the wall, sobbing into her knees in big, ugly gasps. Until then, she had still been holding out some hope that maybe she and Aisha would be something like friends again, that maybe after the reception they would catch up. Even if it seemed unlikely, that thought had still been living somewhere in the back of her mind. But Aisha was right. She hadn’t grown up at all. She was selfish. She was a bad friend, which was why she didn’t have any anymore. 

But was she supposed to just sit there and let Tory say that shit to her? Why the hell did Aisha seat them together anyway if she didn’t want a fight? Sam cried hard until her head started to hurt, not caring if the hotel staff occasionally walked by and saw her. 

Eventually, after her tears subsided and she was just resting her forehead on her knees, she was startled by a tap on her shoulder. 

Tory was standing there, holding two glasses of champagne and offering one to Sam.

“Drink?” Tory asked. Sam accepted it, wiping her eyes. She hadn’t been paying any attention to Tory since Aisha had yelled at her, but it looked like she had gone and cleaned the blood off her face. Her swollen lip was more apparent now. Her dress was still hanging open, but she wasn’t bothering to hold it closed anymore. Sam supposed she might be similarly unconcerned about it if she had Tory’s body, and if she wore pretty bras like that. 

“I’m sorry for making fun of your panic attacks. I didn’t realize I had such a lasting effect on you.” She said. Sam didn’t like the way she put that. It felt like there was a hint of _it was high school, get over it already_. But it was true, she should have gotten over it. She shrugged in response. 

Tory continued. “I always thought you had such a perfect life. I thought everything would work out okay for you no matter what you did. I resented that.”

Sam wanted to stay angry, but she thought about what Aisha said.

“I’m...sorry too.” She said, and it felt bad and wrong to say, like a surrender, even though she knew she should be saying even more. “For hitting you.”

Tory slid down the wall to sit next to her, stretching her legs straight out in front and crossing her ankles. Her bare legs were slender and glossy-looking, and her shoes were delicate high heels with tiny silver buckles on the straps. Was this really the same punk who had scared her so much in high school? Sam let her own legs fall into the same position, looking at her shoes. They were the slightly chunky black ones she had worn to homecoming in sophomore year of high school. She didn’t own any newer dress shoes because she refused to go to anything formal these days. She had faded black tights on as well, and they didn’t match the black of her shoes at all. 

“I’ve been blaming you for everything for a long time,” Sam admitted. Tory sipped champagne on the undamaged side of her mouth and didn’t respond for a while.

“Have things really been that bad?” Tory asked.

It might have been the champagne (how many glasses had she had now? She had no clue), or the fact that Sam had already humiliated herself beyond the point of caring, but she found herself being honest with Tory.

“It wasn’t all because of you. I just needed an excuse. It wasn’t like the panic attacks happened all the time. I could have passed my classes if I had really tried.” Sam took a deep breath. “Sometimes I just didn’t want to go, and I would feel stressed out, and I would think, oh, I’d better stay in the dorm, what if I have a panic attack? But I didn’t actually think I would have one. I just didn't feel like going. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I fucked up my life. I had everything going for me and I just let it rot. And I know if I just tried a little harder, I could make things better, but every day I wake up and I don’t try. And just getting through the day is so hard sometimes that I don’t know if I have it in me to make any sacrifices for the sake of the future. I’m going to be thirty soon and everyone else is out doing amazing things and I haven’t done anything.”

“It sounds like you’re depressed.” Tory said. Sam had heard it before, but she didn’t believe it. She knew if she could just get her shit together, get a better job, move out of her mom’s house, lose some weight, and make some friends, she would be fine. All of that sounded so exhausting though, and there was no point in trying when she knew she would just give up before she saw any results anyway.

“I don’t think so. I think it’s just me. I just need to get my shit together.” Sam said.

“I bet a lot of depressed people feel that way.” Tory said. Sam sighed. 

"Whatever."

"You should stop being so hard on yourself. Nobody has it all figured out. Everyone you hear about is doing amazing things because the people doing amazing things are the only ones you hear about. Everyone else is keeping quiet like you, so you don’t know what they’re up to." Tory said. It made sense, and Sam felt a little bit better.

"What about you? You seem to be doing just fine."

"I’m doing better than fine. My life fucking rules. Does that bother you?" Tory asked.

"Yeah." Sam said immediately. Tory laughed, and Sam couldn't help but laugh too. It was ridiculous. 

“Want another glass? I’m getting one.” Tory said, holding up her empty champagne flute. Sam nodded. Tory stood up and nearly rolled her ankle.

“Whoa. Okay, these guys are coming off before I fall and die.” She said, unstrapping her fancy shoes and kicking them onto the floor. Sam watched her walk away, barefoot on the plush hotel carpet, and thought maybe it was the shoes that had given her such a different aura. Without them, she walked in a way that was more familiar. Sam took the opportunity to take off her own ugly shoes so she didn’t have to look at them anymore. Tory came back looking equal parts amused and embarrassed and handed Sam a new glass.

“I forgot about my dress!” She said, laughing and putting a hand on her exposed stomach. “The bartender was like, what the hell?”

Sam laughed too. That was the kind of thing that would never happen to her. If her dress was torn like that it would be all she could think about until she covered up, drunk or not. She felt a little guilty for ripping it like that.

“Sorry about your dress,” she said, and the word came out easier this time. “It looks expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t like it that much. Not really my style.”

“You’re probably more into like, athleisure, right? Since you own a gym.”

“You been keeping tabs on me?” Tory teased. 

“It’s just what I heard.” Sam said.

“Yeah, I wear a lot of athleisure at work.”

“Do you still do karate?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, although I guess you wouldn’t know it from how you beat me in there.” Tory said.

“I got the drop on you.” Sam said. Tory laughed.

“I really didn’t see it coming. I didn’t think you’d actually hit me. I haven’t been in a real fight in a long time. Street karate just doesn’t seem to happen that often outside the valley.” Tory said. 

“I haven’t done karate at all in years.” Sam said.

“Well, you’ve still got it. Maybe you should get back into it. It might make you feel better.” Tory said. 

Sam had heard that so many times from her dad, but this was the first time she actually considered it. Not because it was Tory saying it, but because Sam had just been reminded of how good it felt to fight, and how good she was at it. Reading an opponent’s body language, finding the best counterattack and executing it, feeling her punches land on solid flesh… it was the most she was ever able to live in the moment. Her regrets couldn’t touch her there.

“Maybe I will.” Sam said. 

They were quiet for a while, drinking their champagne. They could hear Aisha’s wedding toasts happening in the room. They were using a mic, judging by the volume of the voices booming out. Sam was starting to feel dizzy. She set her drink down, still halfway full.

“Are you okay?” Tory asked.

“I don’t feel so good. Shouldn’t have had that last one.” Sam said. 

“Are you going to puke?” Tory asked. Sam shrugged.

“I think I just need to lie down.” She said, and proceeded to do so on the floor.

“I have a room upstairs, if you want to lie down on a bed.” Tory said. Sam was too out of it to answer, but she made an effort to stand. Tory had to help her keep her balance. She let herself be led onto an elevator to the third floor. She couldn’t feel her legs as she stumbled down the hallway, clutching Tory’s arm. The hotel room had one king sized bed.

“Don’t puke.” Tory said. Sam collapsed onto the bed, thinking about making herself puke on Tory’s pillow out of spite. She would probably feel better if she did. She closed her eyes and willed her head to stop spinning, and soon she passed out.

She awoke in the dark. The red numbers on the clock told her it was three in the morning, but she was wide awake. She tried to fall back asleep, turning over to find a more comfortable position, and was startled to see Tory next to her, sleeping on the other side of the bed. Sam had never actually shared a bed with anyone before, at least, not while sleeping. Her college boyfriend in freshman year used to leave before he fell asleep, or else she would get up and leave the room if he fell asleep. Having someone else in her bed was weird. She would get bored if she was the one awake, but she couldn’t sleep with someone else there. 

Tory seemed to be sleeping just fine, in spite of the risk of being puked on. Sam considered leaving, but she felt like shit and wanted to sleep more. Instead she lay awake, staring at Tory’s sleeping face. The other woman hadn’t even taken her makeup off before bed. How could she be so intimidating when she didn’t even know how to take care of her skin? She had panda eyes from her smudged eyeliner. 

Eventually, Sam did manage to fall back asleep a few times. She woke up again around five, fell asleep again, woke up to the sound of Tory closing the blackout curtains on the window so she could tumble back onto the bed in the darkness and sleep some more. Tory took up most of the bed because she stretched out like a starfish, and eventually Sam stopped trying to keep the maximum distance between them and just relaxed. If they touched, they touched. She didn’t give a shit anymore. That’s how she ended up with her thigh against Tory’s thigh and her elbow nestled under Tory’s stomach. 

After a while, it became clear that both of them were awake, just lying there in the dark, feeling like shit together. 

“I’m never drinking champagne again.” Tory muttered.

“The most dangerous drink.” Sam agreed. 

“Yeah. Can’t stop drinking it.” Tory said.

“Especially when it’s free.” Sam said.

“I’m surprised rich kids care if things are free or not.” Tory said. Sam frowned.

“You’re the rich one, not me.” Sam said.

“What, did mommy and daddy cut you off?”

“No. But it’s not my money. I can’t just spend as much as I want.”

“Sounds rough.” Tory said, linking her fingers behind her head and lounging back. 

"Are you trying to start another fight? 'Cause I'll kick your ass again." _Just as soon as my head stops spinning when I move_ , Sam thought.

"I'm ready for a rematch anytime, anyplace. Just say the word when you think you can take me." Tory said.

“I can take you now.” Sam said, grabbing Tory’s arm half heartedly.

“Nooo, I’m too hungover.” Tory whined, but she tried to push Sam off the bed, and Sam had to prevent it by rolling over and pinning her down by the wrists. 

“You said anytime.” Sam reminded her. Tory was looking at her funny, so Sam let go of her wrists. The moment her hands were free, Tory put them on Sam’s face and pulled her down. 

The kiss surprised Sam a lot. Her hungover brain didn’t have the mental capacity to interpret it, so she just followed Tory’s lead and went along with it. She had never kissed a girl before. She wondered if Tory had. Probably.

“Your mouth tastes bad.” Tory said when they broke apart.

“No, that’s _your_ mouth. If your tongue tastes bad, then everything you taste with it will taste bad.” Sam said.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Try it. Taste something else.” Sam said. Next moment Tory’s tongue was on her neck, making her squirm.

“Nope, it’s your mouth.” Tory said, and Sam expected her to stop after that, but she didn’t. Wet, hot kisses trailed down her chest, and somehow her dress and her bra came off so Tory could continue onto her breasts, and Sam expected her to stop after that, but she didn’t. And Tory’s mouth kept going lower still, and Sam expected her to stop, but she didn’t. Tory didn’t stop for a long time.

They must have fallen asleep again, because Sam woke up again later, feeling much better than the first few times she awoke. She turned to her left and Tory wasn’t there. There was a note on the pillow, scribbled on the hotel stationery.

_Sorry to leave like this, I have to catch a flight. I got a late check out in case you wanted to sleep in. When you think you’re ready for that rematch, let me know. --Tory_

She hadn’t left a number or anything. She probably didn’t know Sam didn’t have Facebook or Instagram anymore. Sam considered getting them again, but she wasn’t ready for that. That would mean other people from her past seeing what her life was like now. Maybe someday that would be fine, but not now.

When Sam got home, she went straight to her room and started doing kata for the first time in years. Her body remembered all the moves, and it felt like coming home again. How had she given this up for so long? Why had it seemed like so much effort? She practiced karate on her own in her room for over an hour, and then the next day she did it again. And the next day, and the next day. After a while, she no longer stopped by the store after work to buy her two bottles of wine, because it felt better to train sober. She noticed her mood lifting every day after that. She slept better at night, and she had more energy in the morning.

Soon she started training outside. She sparred with her dad again, like he always wanted to do, and he was so thrilled about it that she felt bad for saying no all this time. It was a good way to spend more time together, which she hadn’t done as much since her parents’ divorce. 

He gave her the keys to Mr. Miyagi’s house so she could train in the garden whenever she wanted. He wasn’t running a dojo there anymore. He had retired and only taught the occasional student who happened into his life and needed it. Just like Mr. Miyagi had done with him, he said. But none of them ever stuck around the way he had with his old mentor, and right now, Sam was his only sparring partner. One day, they were meditating together in the garden, when he suggested the idea.

“Have you ever thought about opening your own dojo?” He said. 

“No. I couldn’t.” Sam immediately said. Who would want to take classes from her?

“Sure you could. I’ve taught you everything I know. Someone’s gotta pass it on.” He said. 

The more Sam thought about it, the more she liked the idea. 

A few months later, she had quit her shitty job and had a class full of kids running around the garden.

“Spencer, back away from the koi pond!” She called out to her problem student, a seven year old with an appetite for destruction. He laughed his head off and ran across the bridge to tackle little Elijah onto the grass. 

“Be careful!” She said, and they ignored her, knocking each other over and getting back up just to do it again, laughing like they’d found the funnest game of all time. She smiled and let them carry on for a while. It didn’t seem like they were hurting each other.

“Everyone fall in, your parents will be here soon,” she eventually called out. She finally got the kids lined up right when the first mom showed up at the gate. As the parents gathered their kids, some of them chatted with each other, and Sam overheard Spencer’s mom saying something that caught her attention.

“Yeah, Julia just got a new job at that fancy new boxing gym down the street. They just opened yesterday. I guess they had a big opening ceremony too. She got to meet the CEO.”

“It’s one of those Nichols gyms, right? I always wanted to try that, I keep hearing about it. A bunch of celebrities go there.”

Sam turned away. One of Tory’s gyms, here? She had to admit she was curious. She had never traveled anywhere that had one. For some reason they were initially an east coast phenomenon. She pulled out her phone and looked it up in Maps. Sure enough, there it was, within walking distance. She must have driven by it tons of times without noticing it.

As soon as all the kids had been picked up, she went walking, thinking maybe she would just pass by the gym and see how it looked. She had a few hours to kill before she was supposed to meet Aisha for coffee and catch up. She had called her to apologize after Aisha had cooled down, and she had tentatively forgiven her. While they didn’t live in the same city anymore, they now tried to meet up whenever Aisha was in town to visit her parents. She never told Aisha what happened after she threw her out of the reception.

She thought about Tory sometimes. It had been about a year since Aisha’s wedding, and Sam had never reached out to her. She wasn’t sure if Tory really wanted her to, or if it was better to just let that night be its own thing. 

But here she was, at the gym. The front of the building was all glass. As Sam walked by, she could sort of see the front desk, and something made her decide to open the door and go in. The woman at the desk had her head down and was messing with something under the edge, maybe a stack of papers, but she looked up and raised her eyebrows as Sam approached. 

“LaRusso.” She said, not concealing her surprise.

“Ready for that rematch?” Sam asked. 

Tory just stared for a moment, and Sam wondered if she had made a mistake, but then Tory smirked.

“You’re on.”


End file.
